


E is for [Utter] Exhaustion

by Undomiel5



Series: The Panther King and His Tiger Queen [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fainting, Family Feels, Female Character of Color, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Young!Shuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-08-20 15:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: When my eyes started to fall shut of their own accord, I snapped upright. I could not fall asleep however badly I wanted to. My whole body ached with exhaustion, but I couldn’t sleep: we weren’t safe, not quite yet.





	1. Chapter 1

Thursday, October 6, 2011  
5:14am EAT (10:14pm EST)  
Couple miles from the Sudan-Wakandan Border

Tiredly I leaned my head back against the back of the truck bed as I watched the dusty road appear behind us. When my eyes started to fall shut of their own accord, I snapped upright. I could not fall asleep however badly I wanted to. My whole body ached with exhaustion, but I couldn’t sleep: we weren’t safe, not quite yet. In another ten minutes or so if our rattling ride didn’t break down first, we would reach the border between Sudan and Wakanda. Then in my adopted home-country we would be safe. 

I switched my pistol to my other hand and wiped my sweaty palm on my dust stained cargo pants, before returning my pistol to my dominant left hand. I switched my gaze from the dusty road to my friend lying beside me on a hastily made pallet of my jacket and two old blankets. Natasha Romanoff was a far cry from her usual put-together, immaculate self. Her red curls were dirty, limp, and slick with sweat. Her green eyes were half-closed, and her forehead was beaded with sweat. Two bandages spotted heavily with blood peaked from her torn clothes.

I watched her chest rise and fall for a minute just to reassure myself that she was still alive. As I reached over and felt her forehead (her fever had risen a little higher, I thought), I wondered how our mission had gone south so fast. We had been in southern Sudan for a little over a week tracking a shipment of arms that was going to be moved to Somalia. Our job hadn’t been to capture the weapons (that was someone else’s problem) but to hopefully learn enough to track the seller and cut the problem off at the bud. We had acquired some good intel and would have been leaving for home in another day or so when everything went south. Late Sunday night our safe house had been compromised, and we had been forced to go on the run. Through Wednesday afternoon we had managed to keep ahead and temporarily shake our pursuers as we moved in a roundabout fashion toward our extraction point. However, early Wednesday night our pursuers, a posse of enforcers for a violent group of arms-dealers, had caught up with us. We had killed most of them in a violent and heated confrontation. But this victory had come at great cost: I had caught a through-and-through in the side, and Tasha had caught one in the gut and one in the shoulder.

With those injuries all our plans changed. I couldn’t make it the rest of the way to our extraction point carrying my partner. I didn’t have the means to call for our help, as we had lost most of our gear along with our safe-house. My best plan, I had decided, was to head for Wakanda. There we would be safe and could get medical care for Natasha most of all. My wound was relatively minor, as long as it did not get infected. After leaving the scene of our confrontation, I managed to carry Natasha as far as the nearest road, and there we had waited for someone to pass: I would take car or other means of transport. Around midnight a truck had come along; its driver was a trader heading back home. It took a lot of persuasion along with the promise of some form of payment before he would agree to take us to the border. For the last five hours I had been sitting in the bed of the truck that was half covered by a tarp, rattling along at somewhere between 10 and 15 miles per hour. 

I stared off into the distance, half my attention on Natasha, the other half on the sand just in case any of our pursuers managed to catch up with us. My head started to drop again. I was so tired. My thoughts were blurring, one to the next, in my tiredness. I dug my fingernails [much too long] into my hand, and let the pain sharpen my thoughts. That would help but not for long.

Within a few minutes the driver knocked on the glass that separated us. I flinched at the noise. My nerves were shot. 

“I can see the checkpoint up ahead.” He shouted back in Xhosa, the native tongue of Wakanda and some of the surrounding area. 

It took me a moment to translate what he had said. I had started learning Xhosan a year and a half earlier when I married into the Wakandan royal family. Since then I had learned it pretty well, but my skills at speaking any language besides English or Cheyenne decreased proportionately to the amount of sleep I had not gotten. Needless to say after being on the run for several days, I was way behind on sleep, and I was very slow at translating.

In another minute I heard the calls of the Wakandan guards at the checkpoint, and the truck started to slow. I heard the thwap of the guard’s shoes as he approached.

“What is your business here?” The guard asked in Xhosan.

“Found two women along the road. One injured. Other convinced me to take them here.” He replied. I could imagine him motioning to the back of the truck.

I could hear the guard turn and call to another, “Come.” They moved around toward the back of the truck.

I knew I had nothing to fear from the Wakandan guards. My clothes were dirty, torn, and even bloodied in spots. I was an utter mess, but I knew that they would recognize me. Even so, I quietly put my pistol down between my feet.

Suddenly the trap hanging over the back of the truck was pushed aside, and a flashlight was shined in my face. I winced and put up a hand to partially shield my face. Almost immediately the light was dropped away from my face, and I saw a flash of shock as the guard recognized me: this was not exactly the way a border guard would expect to meet the Crown Princess of Wakanda even though I still worked for SHIELD. I shook my head quickly and put a finger to my lips. The guard nodded: message received. 

Surmising that my companion was injured from the quick look he had gotten, the first guard turned and first spoke something to his companion who hurried away before saying to our driver. “Your assistance is appreciated.”

“She promised me compensation.” The driver replied.

Pushing the tarp out of the way, the guard looked at me and raised an eyebrow in question. I gave a weary nod in reply: our driver might be a lout as far as I was concerned, but I had promised him payment.

Within a minute the second guard returned with a litter and extra manpower. I couldn’t see our driver anymore; the Wakandan guards must have taken him away to pay him.

The first guard turned back to me and said in a respectful tone, as he motioned me toward him. “I’ll help you down, and then we’ll help your friend.”

I grabbed my pistol slowly and carefully and handed it to him first. He took it and handed off to one of the others. I gingerly got to my feet, still bent over partially so I didn’t hit my head on the tarp. My side screamed in protest at the movement, but I didn’t feel any fresh blood. I had only had the time to do the barest care for the wound, as what few supplies I had needed for Tasha.

Slowly I moved the few steps to the back of the truck and crouched down at the end. The guard, a tall and lithe man, reached up after looking to me for permission and lifted me down to the ground. I tried to restrain a wince but only managed in part. I knew he had seen, but I also knew that he would not comment until there were no strangers about.

He pulled me back a few feet from the trucks, and the other guards, one of whom I noticed was a medic, moved to transfer Tasha into the litter and then out of the truck. Our driver also was returning with his pay and climbed into his truck. “Good riddance,” I thought. 

I was guided away from the truck, through the border crossing, and toward a building about 15 yards away. The guards carrying the litter followed a few paces behind. I could hear the rumbling and rattling of the truck restart as it pulled away.

Stepping into the building that housed the border guards for this crossing, I winced at the light. The guard who had helped me from the truck showed me to a seat. “Are you hurt, princess?” He asked.

I leaned my head back against the wall. I didn’t want to sleep yet, but I could rest a little. “Through-and-through between two ribs,” I said touching my side to show. 

“The medics are working on your friend as she is hurt worst, but one of them will come and check on you before we leave for the capital.” He said. “My commander is getting a message passed to the capital while our main truck is being gassed up. As soon as your friend…”

“Natasha,” I broke in.

“As soon as Natasha is stable as they can make her, we’ll start for the capital. She looks like she badly needs a hospital,” I nodded at this. He continued, “but we’ll do what we can for her here.”

I nodded again but didn’t speak. A minute later after my jacket was returned to me, I roused myself to ask, “Can I have some water, please?”

“Of course,” my guard jumped to his feet and hurried off, returning a few moments later with a cup filled with cool water.

I sipped it slowly, after not drinking for over a day I didn’t want to make myself sick. I closed my eyes again, waiting.

 

Thursday, October 6, 2011  
10:30am EAT (3:30am EST)  
Central Wakanda

It took nearly an hour at the border crossing before the medics had patched Natasha and me up to their satisfaction. We were then transferred to a much more comfortable truck, and then we started toward Central Wakanda, the capital city of Wakanda and the location of the Royal Palace.

I had slipped into a fitful doze soon after we left the border. It only seemed a few minutes, though it was about four hours before one of the medics, a woman named Nakia, roused me. It was still early, so we made good time winding our way through the streets of the city.

I dozed off again only to wake with a start when the truck pulled to a stop in front of the main hospital in Wakanda, which was named after the late queen. A swarm of doctors and nurses met us. They removed Natasha first and hurried with her into the hospital. As soon as they were clear, I moved to the back of the truck. As I did so, T’Challa appeared in his usual black slacks and black t-shirt. His face already concerned grew more concerned as he caught sight of me.

T’Challa reached up and easily lifted me down to the ground. My feet were now on terra firma, but I could have been on a boat at sea as steady as I felt. I was finally safe, and the lack of sleep, food, water, and medical attention over the past four days began to catch up with me as the adrenaline began to fade with increasing speed.

My vision began to swim, and only T’Challa’s strong arm around my waist kept me upright. From a distance I could hear him calling my name; I looked to the side into the city. Everything seemed so far away and fuzzy. The edges of my vision began to go black. Without warning I crumpled.

 

Friday, October 7, 2011  
9:00am EAT (2:00am EST)  
Wakandan Royal Palace

Slowly consciousness began to return, and for a few moments I wasn’t sure where I was. Out of long years of habits I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. As the fuzziness of deep sleep began to fade, I started to catalogue what I could hear, feel, and smell. 

What I could hear was very little. The room I was in was very quiet. There was the faint whir in the background of a fan or central air-conditioning. Some little distance away I thought that I could make out the noise of passing feet. The main noises nearby were the crinkling and flipping of paper and the scratchings of a pen.

I could feel that my wound had been treated. The pain that had been lingering for so long and making it hard to think was now only a dull presence. My side had been bandaged. There was a slight pain in the crook of my elbow that was newly bandaged. After a moment I realized that I had probably had an IV while I was out. The feel of the bed I was lying in was familiar, and so was the touch of my clothes.

All these thoughts flew through my mind in seconds. I was used to processing situations quickly. Sometimes my life depended on it. It didn’t take long for me to realize where I was: the bedroom that T’Challa and I shared in the Wakandan Royal Palace.

Our room was full of sunlight; I opened my eyes slowly allowing them to adjust. Turning my head slightly to the right, I saw T’Challa sitting at his desk studying a sheaf of papers. Behind him through the window I could see the edge of one of the giant Black Panther statues that stood guard over the forest. Beyond stood the mountains and green jungles of our home.

“T’Challa,” I tried to call his name, but I was barely able to speak above a whisper.

However soft my voice was, T’Challa still heard me. He must have been waiting for me to wake up, because his head snapped up immediately. A look of relief crossed his face and shone in his dark eyes. Putting down his pen, he stood and came around the end of his desk toward the bed.

He took a seat on the edge of our bed being careful not to bump me. Leaning over he brushed his lips gently over my forehead.

“I am glad to see you awake, my love.” He said, tucking a strand of my long black hair behind my ear. “You frightened me when you collapsed.”

“I am sorry, T’Challa.” I replied, reaching out to touch his hand. He was leaning over me slightly with one arm on the opposite side of me from which he was sitting.

T’Challa took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “You are forgiven, my dear Asha,” he said with a playful smile, though his eyes were still shadowed. My husband had been crown prince of Wakanda since his birth; he had grown up at court. He knew well how to hide his thoughts and emotions from others around, but sometimes I could still see in his eyes what he was thinking and feeling. I could see that I had badly worried him: this wasn’t the first time since our marriage a year-and-a-half earlier that I had returned to Wakanda to heal from injuries acquired on missions, but this was the first time I had collapsed in his arms.

I glanced around looking for a clock. Unfortunately the one on my bedside table was in the wrong position for me to see while nearly flat on my back. T’Challa, surmising what I was looking for, said, “It is approximately 9:00 o’clock in the morning on Friday the 7th. You have been first unconscious and then asleep for nearly a day.”

I winced. My thoughts started to drift towards how this return journey had come about. TASHA. If I had been out for a day, how was she? She had been in bad shape when we had arrived in the capitol. I turned my attention back to my husband. My worry was clearly obvious in my face, as I asked, “How is Natasha?” 

“Her condition is serious, but the doctors assure me that she will make a full recovery. Her fever broke a few hours ago, but she is still unconscious.” 

I leaned my head a little further back and closed my eyes for a moment with an audible sigh of relief. “I thought . . . I really thought before we got here that I might have a teammate die in front of me and that there was nothing that I would have been able to do.”  
“Once you are stronger, you must tell me what happened,” said T’Challa.

“It is a very long and complicated story,” I replied, “I survived it, and I’m still not sure of all the facts.”

For a few minutes all was quiet. It was nice to relax in my soft bed and to allow myself to sink into the mounds of pillows. T’Challa was still sitting beside me, and the repetitive motion of his thumb caressing the back of my hand was a nice distraction from the aches and pains of my body.

Suddenly another thought shot across my hand that had me trying to sit up suddenly. I only made it part way up before a wave of dizziness made my head swim. T’Challa helped ease me back down. 

“You must not get up yet,” he scolded gently, “you are still very weak. The doctor said that you were badly dehydrated and malnourished.”

He continued after a moment, “But what is wrong? Do you need me to get you something?”

I rubbed a hand slowly across my eyes. “A phone would be helpful,” I replied. “I just realized. We were trying to get to our extraction point when everything went sideways: we’re days overdue by now, and SHIELD likely doesn’t have a clue where we are. Unless you contacted them?”

T’Challa shook as his head as he rose from my side. “No. My father and I thought it best to wait until we knew the circumstances of your hasty arrival in Wakanda. Just in case.” That is just in case we were running from SHIELD. He returned a moment later and handed me a secure cellphone that SHIELD had previously given me.

“Not a bad idea,” I replied quietly with a grateful smile. I started to slowly dial a number from memory. 

He kissed me again and then rose. “Make your phone call, my love, and assuage the worry of your employers. I will have the doctor come and check on you afterwards, and then we can get you some food.”

I gave him another grateful smile as I pressed my ringing phone to my ear.

After only two rings the line connected. “Coulson,” the voice on the other end started.

“Boss, it’s Claw . . .” I began. I was not looking forward to explain to our handler how our mission, supposedly simple, had gone sideways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note #1: I had originally planned for this story to just be a one-shot, but due to the popularity of this story on Fanfiction.net, I am deciding to extend it, at least for a little while. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Author's Note #2: Please review even if you want to give constructive criticism. I welcome opportunities to improve my writing.

Friday, October 7, 2011  
2:20am EST (9:20am EAT)  
SHIELD Helicarrier over the North Atlantic

Phil Coulson was having a very bad day. Scratch that, he was having a very bad week. Two of his best agents—Natasha Romanoff, better known as the Black Widow, the infamous Russian (former) spy, and Asha Hunter, better known as Claw, a mutant huntress and former member of the X-Men—had been missing in action since at least midday Sunday. The pair had been dispatched to Sudan at the beginning of the month to track a shipment of arms being moved into Somalia. Then early in the week the two had missed a check-in and had disappeared.

For days now, Coulson had been under severe pressure from his superiors to either find his two agents or, at least resort, to leave them to their own devices and disavow them. To make matters worse, Clint “Hawkeye” Barton had returned Wednesday evening from his own mission and was now clamoring to be sent to Sudan to find his partner and Hunter, even though he was suffering from several cracked ribs as a result of what he termed a mere ‘scuffle’ during his own mission.

It was early in the morning now on the fifth day since Romanoff and Hunter had disappeared. Coulson was in his office, receiving periodic updates from the two operatives near enough to Sudan to be sent in on Search and Rescue and pouring over the transcripts and reports received from the pair before their disappearance for any clues about what had gone so wrong on the mission. To the agents going in and out of his office to bring Coulson new files or give him updates, he still looked like his unruffled, calm self. But those few who knew him better would see that the stress was getting to him. He was still wearing Thursday’s suit and was holding his coffee mug so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. His eyes, moreover, were slightly red from a so far sleepless night spent staring at a computer screen.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Its loud buzzzzzzzzz shattered the stillness and quietness of his office. It was a testament to how tired Coulson was that he jumped, just slightly. Keeping his attention on what he was reading, he pulled his phone from his pocket without glancing at the screen.

“Coulson.”

“Hey boss, it’s Claw…” Coulson felt a sudden weight lift from his shoulders as he heard the answering voice. After days of no progress, finally he had word from one of his missing agents, and from the horse’s mouth no less. Hunter’s voice was quiet, not unusual for her, and a little weaker but not extremely so. For having been MIA for days, she sounded good, not like she was seriously injured or currently fighting or running for her life.

“Hunter, it’s good to hear your voice,” a rare note of fondness slipped into Coulson’s voice as he greeted her. Asha had always been one of his favorite charges, after Natasha and Clint whom he had worked with longer. “It’s been chaos here trying to find you.”

“Sorry about that, boss. The last week has been as chaotic and nerve-wracking for us as it was for you. Of that I assure you.”

“Status?”

“Tasha and I are both more or less in one piece. I took a bullet between two ribs: one more scar to add to my collection. Tasha caught one in the gut and one in the shoulder. She’s in serious but stable condition right now.”

The fact that Tasha was now in stable condition implied the fact that his two absent agents were somewhere with good medical facilities or, less likely, had met a mutant with a gift for healing others. That fact raised one important question: where were they then? Still in Africa? Or had one of their many contacts spirited them out of the country or off the continent? “Where are you now?”

There was a long pause, expected by Coulson, before Asha replied. Even though she and her brother, before his death, had trusted Coulson and, to an extent, Fury and Hill, the twins had always been a bit wary of the SHIELD hierarchy because of the previous bad treatment of Mutants by the government and the military in the early 2000s. The two had a habit of disappearing periodically when not on missions or when on injury leave with only the vaguest explanation of where they disappeared off to. This hesitation to reveal their hideouts and close contacts had only increased after their mission to Ethiopia in early 2007, Charles’ death later that year, and Asha’s stent as a POW in the Balkans in 2008. While Coulson understood the reason for her lack of trust in the SHIELD hierarchy, he found her secretiveness on this issue sometimes exasperating, though he knew he risked breaking her trust in him if he pushed her on the issue.

“Still near Sudan,” she replied after a long pause, “with friends. We’re safe.”

“When will you need extraction?” Coulson asked, deciding to let his non-answered question about her location slide for the time.

“I won’t be strong enough for a couple days, one disadvantage of having a fast metabolism and only a slight healing factor.” Her voice was growing softer the longer she spoke, as her energy seemed to fade. She did not elaborate on what she meant by the reference to her metabolism, but Coulson could guess considering some of her past missions. “I haven’t seen Tasha yet, but with a gut shot, even she won’t be able to be moved for several days.”

“We’ll send a medical team with the extraction team. Where do we meet you?”

There was another long pause before Asha replied. “Let’s make it Cairo?” Her statement came out more as a question. Then for a moment Coulson thought he heard another voice, male perhaps, in the background through the phone. “Yes, Cairo. I have friends there. I’ll let you know when, probably within the next week to ten days.”

“Keep me apprised. I’ll need a full report of your mission as soon as possible once you return unless there is anything I need to know now.”

“Overall, it was a bust,” Asha gave a tired sigh and then continued, “We got some good intel and were starting to wrap up our work when our safe house was compromised probably by the group we were hunting. Too many to fight, so we had to run. If the group has any brains, they’ll go to ground, and what we learned bust. That’s the summary.”

“Understood. Thank you, Asha.”

Coulson started moving as soon as he hung up the phone. Striding from his office, he waylaid the first agent he saw, telling him, “Go find Hawkeye and send him to me.” The agent hurried on his way with a “Yes, sir!!” Coulson continued on at a quick but dignified pace toward the helicarrier’s upper decks. He had a Director and Deputy Director to update.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Chapter 3 kept getting longer and longer, so I'm splitting it into two. Chapter 4 will hopefully be finished within the next week. Chapters 3 and 4 are just family time. Natasha should reappear in Chapter 5.

Friday, October 7, 2011  
9:35am EAT (2:35am EST)  
Wakandan Royal Palace

The days without food, water, or sleep had done a number on my reserves of strength. Even after just having two long conversations, I was feeling exhausted by the time I hung up with the Boss and handed the phone back to T'Challa.

After gingerly shifting a little in bed, I leaned my head back against the pillows and closed my eyes, as T'Challa went to return the phone to his desk. I must have zoned out or dozed off for the next thing I knew T'Challa was back by my side, and I had not even noticed him move back.

"Tired?" He asked me softly, pushing a few loose strands of hair back from my face.

I nodded, "That long without food, my body just gives out at the end. I just need to rest. I'll be alright."

When my eyes closed and I started to drift off again, my husband pressed his hand to my check, rousing me, "I know you are tired, sithandwa, but I need you to stay awake. The doctor will be here in a few minutes. Once she checks on you, then you can sleep."

With an effort I reopened my eyes. I felt like I only had a thimbleful of energy that I had already used up. My mind was starting to feel like it was moving at the speed of molasses. I cast around in my mind for something to keep me awake.

"How have you been?" I thought to ask after a few moments. I had unfortunately not been home in several months. My work, important though it was, kept me away from my home much too much. I was starting to get very tired of my job.

"Well," T'Challa replied, "but busy. There has been much to do as prince and Black Panther."

"Trouble?" I asked.

"With the former, no, just delicate negotiations. With the latter, no more than usual."

"And how is Shuri?"

T'Challa's face lightened at the mention of his 11 year old sister. He was quite fond of his little sister, even though he sometimes found her mischievous streak a touch exasperating. "She is quite well. She is progressing quickly in her training with the Design Group and wishes somedays that she could spend more time with them and less time with her tutor on other subjects. She is quite worried about you and wants to come up and see you when you feel a little stronger."

I smiled, "I would like that very much."

Several minutes later, the communication bead on T'Challa's kimoyo beads vibrated, reminding me that I did not have my beads back yet. With a twitch of his wrist, T'Challa brought up the message. My Wakandan was good, but it was not good enough for me to read backwards so I waited for him to tell me what it said, if he wished to do so.

With another flick of his wrist, T'Challa closed the screen. "From Teela," he said, "the doctor is on her way up."

"Would you get my beads for me, please? Now that I'm home, it feels strange to be without them," I asked, making a slight gesture toward my bare wrist.

"Of course," T'Challa said, rising from his seat on the bed beside me, "You left your bracelet in the carved box on your desk, correct?"

I nodded. With all the hubbub in the ensuing months, I didn't specifically remember leaving my bracelet there. Yet, since I was a creature of habit and I always left my bracelet in that box, it was extremely unlikely that it would not be there.

My husband disappeared silently into the next room to retrieve my kimoyo beads from my desk. The room I was in now had been T'Challa's bedroom and study ever since his childhood. When we had been married in the spring of the previous year, the room beside this one had been repurposed, with a connecting door added, to serve as a dressing room, library, and study for me so that we did not have to ram elbows trying to fit all of our things in one, admittedly, large room.

The door chime went off just as T'Challa reappeared in the doorway and slid open at his command. From my position on the bed, I could not see the door but immediately recognized the voice of the doctor that greeted my husband. M'Koni had been my primary doctor ever since I had first come to Wakanda in 2007 and had become quite familiar with my more unusual physiology in the ensuing four years. A member of the River Tribe, she was a tall, energetic woman with long limbs, angular features, and short cropped hair.

She greeted me with a cheerful, "Good morning, princess, you are looking much improved," as she came to my side.

If I had looked half as bad as I felt when I had arrived, I was sure that I would have been a sight. I gave a wan smile, "I'm sure."

T'Challa stopped by my bedside long enough to hand me my kimoyo beads, which M'Koni helped fasten around my wrist, before returning to his desk. It was obvious, however, that he was paying more attention to M'Koni and I than he was to whatever he had been working on.

"How do you feel?" M'Koni asked me, taking my other wrist and checking my pulse.

"Tired and weak," I replied after a moment's thought, "like I only have a thimbleful of energy. I got dizzy a little bit ago, too, when I tried to sit up too quickly."

"I am not surprised," she said, running one of her hand-held medical scanners over me, "You are still somewhat dehydrated, and your blood-sugar is too low. The results of days without enough food or water cannot be fixed overnight. … Your side is healing well. No sign of infection or complications."

M'Koni asked me a few more question and did another scan and then asked, "Do you feel like eating something?"

I reopened my eyes which had slipped shut against my accord, "That depends on what you want me to eat?"

"Broth?"

"I could eat a little, but I want to sleep more."

"I'll have a mug of broth sent up for you. Drink as much as you feel like. Then sleep. That will help you heal. I'll give instructions to the cooks on what you can have this evening if you feel like eating. I also want you to rest for the remainder of the day, no getting up and moving about unless you cannot avoid it. I'll be by in the morning to check on you again."

"Thank you, M'Koni."

"Of course, princess," she said, rising and bowing first to me and then to T'Challa.

I must have dozed off, for the next think I knew, T'Challa was sitting at my side with a mug of broth in one hand. He helped me sit up slightly and lean back against the mound of pillows and only gave me the mug, once he saw that my hands were steady enough to hold it. I managed about two-thirds of the mug, before deciding it was best to stop before even my cast-iron stomach had too much. T'Challa took back the mug and helped me lay back down, and I soon drifted off again.

When I awoke again, the shadows in the room had greatly lengthened, making it evident that I had slept most of the day away, not unusual for a tiger to do, but rare for me to unless I was ill or injured. The curtains had been mostly, but not totally, drawn, and the light in the room was shadowed and dim. For a moment, I thought I was alone, but then I noticed Kisani, sitting by the cracked curtains spinning. She was one of the Queen's attendants and often aided me when I had dresses I could not manage alone or needed a hairstyle more complicated than I could make. An older woman, Kisani had hair that was heavily touched with grey, and there was the start of crow's-feet around her eyes. She was often quiet, but with age had come wisdom, and she was always ready to offer good advice when needed or asked.

With the senses of a mother (she had three grown children), Kisani realized I was awake before I could even speak and, putting down her spinning, crossed the room to my side. "How do you feel?" She asked.

I pushed myself slowly and gingerly up to my elbows. I was relieved when my head immediately did not begin to spin. "Better, I think." I was not feeling energetic by any means, but my head felt clearer, and I felt like I had more than a thimbleful of energy.

Kisani supported me with a strong arm around my shoulders and shifted the pillows so I could half-sit up without exerting myself. "Do you feel like drinking something? You started to rouse half-an-hour ago, so I had more broth brought up for you."

I nodded, and she brought me the mug.

"Where's T'Challa?" I asked, after I took a small sip of the warm broth.

"The King had need of him, so the prince left an hour-and-a-half ago to consult with him. He was also going to check on your friend," Kisani said, moving her chair from the window to my bedside so we could talk more easily and she could aid me if needed, "He asked the Queen to spare me for the afternoon so that you would not be alone while you are ill."

I smiled at this. My family took good care of me. "What time is it?" I asked, glancing again at the lengthening shadows in the room.

"About six in the evening, princess. Dinner will be in an hour."

My acknowledgement was cut off when I gave a violent shiver, almost sloshing the contents of my mug. At almost any other time, I would have considered the room comfortably warm. However, it was a common symptom of times when my fast metabolism stabbed me in the back that I would get cold even when I was in Africa in the middle of October.

"Can you get my shawl for me, please?" I said, more small shivers running across my frame.

Kisani hurried out and soon returned with my shawl, woven in orange and black like a tiger's stripes, and tucked it around me. She took the chance while she was by my side to check me for a fever, just in case. Once she was reassured that I had not taken a sudden downturn, she asked, "Do you want me to fix your hair?"

"Just a loose braid, please, to keep it out of my face." I replied. My hair had gotten rather long while I was out in the field, and I found it annoying if loose strands got in my face.

Kisani pulled a small comb and a couple of small hair ties from a hidden pocket in her skirt—I always found it amazing the types of things she managed to conceal in her pockets—and began to fix my hair. By the time she was finished, I had one main braid that restrained the vast majority of my hair and several smaller braids that helped frame my face.

Not long after she had finished, the bedroom door opened with a quiet chime, and my husband reappeared. He had been moving silently in case I was still asleep, but his face brightened when he saw me half-sitting up. Kisani checked that I did not need anything further and then excused herself and left us alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sithandwa = dear one


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay since the last chapter. My life is very busy right now, and my muse temporarily abandoned me.

_Not long after Kisani had finished fixing my hair, the bedroom door opened with a quiet chime, and my husband reappeared. He had been moving silently in case I was still asleep, but his face brightened when he saw me half-sitting up. Kisani checked that I did not need anything further and then excused herself and left us alone._

T'Challa came immediately to my side as soon as we were alone. "How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice full of care and concern.

"Better," I replied, "Not so tired, and not dizzy right now." I hated being dizzy. It always made me feel like I was trying to walk on rolling, shifting ground with the wrong numbers of paws or feet.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you awoke," he said, taking a seat on the bed and brushing a hand across my cheek. "Baba had a question for me, and then I went to check on your friend."

My husband was not a very touchy-feely man by nature or extremely open with his emotions, his training as a prince and a warrior seeing to that. However, he was always more tactile when I was injured. A mutant though I was, I did not have the Black Panther habit to protect me, the enhancement of the Heart-Shaped Herb to aid me, or the Dora Milaje to watch my back. I wondered privately but had never asked if, after the multiple times I had come home injured in the past year-and-a-half, T'Challa thought that one of these days I was not going to make it home, that just like my twin I would leave for a mission one day and never come back.

"That's alright," I replied, reaching out and slipping my hand into his, "Kisani took good care of me like she always does. How's Tasha?"

"In stable but serious condition. Her fever has broken, as I told you earlier. The bullet in her abdomen did limited damage, by Bast's grace, or she would have never made it here. The bullet in her shoulder did serious damage to her collar bone and shoulder blade, but with our healing technology, she will regain full range of motion. She is weak from blood loss, but she will recover. In the morning, the doctors will start weaning her off the sedatives that kept her quiet while her condition was very severe."

"I should be there then," I said, "After our mission, it would be a bad idea for Tasha to wake up injured in a strange country without a friendly face. People tend to get injured when that happens."

"Two Doras are guarding her room. She would not make it out of the room regardless."

In almost all other cases, I would have said that Tasha, even injured, would have found a way to take out any guards and escape regardless. Yet, with the Doras there and with Wakandan tech, her chances lessened _considerably_ to close to nil. "I should be there anyway. I don't want her to wake up alone."

"If M'Koni approves, I'll make sure you're there," T'Challa reassured me. "But only if she approves. You are not well either right now."

"Thank you."

"Do you feel like going downstairs for part of the evening?" T'Challa asked, changing the subject.

My brow furrowed at this. I was confused. "M'Koni said I was supposed to rest for today, and that would be a bit of a long walk." If it were just me, I might buck the rules. If it were just T'Challa, I knew he might buck the rules. But it was unheard of for T'Challa to suggest me bucking the rules when I was injured. He was too protective.

"You fell asleep before M'Koni left the room. We spoke for some time in the hall. She said it did not matter where you rested, as long as you rested. The company will do you good."

Still I hesitated, thinking I was missing something from what he was saying or trying to say. I was probably just being dense. "I think I feel like sitting and talking awhile, but I don't feel strong enough to walk."

"You will not have to walk," T'Challa replied.

It still took me another long moment before I realized what my husband meant. He was suggesting carrying me down himself, not a difficult feat for him considering the enhancement of the Heart Shaped Herb. The idea made my cheeks go red with embarrassment, as my independent, stubborn streak vied with the part of me that, after a long and hard life, liked being taken care of. After a few moments of thought, my wish to see my family won out, and I pushed back the bedcovers so T'Challa could pick me up. Pleased by my agreement, he slipped one arm beneath my knees and the other around my back and easily lifted me, like I weighed no more than little Shuri did.

When we reached the hallway, I was surprised to see it empty. "No Doras?" I asked, leaning my head against T'Challa's shoulder and trying to keep my arms where I wouldn't elbow him in the chest accidentally.

"There were two at the door while I was absent. Right now there are two at each staircase, two by the entrance to the Royal Wing, and the rest at their usual posts."

The slight jolt of going down the steps made my side flare painfully, making me glad for my higher than normal pain tolerance. Distraction would also make me forget about it soon.

Within a few minutes of leaving our rooms, T'Challa stopped before the door of his mother's sitting room. There was a quick chime to alert those inside of visitors, and then the door slid open.

The queen's sitting room was a warm, inviting place. It was of medium size and was facing toward the city, so that, through a wall of windows on the far side of the room, those inside had a good view of the Golden City and the country beyond. One whole wall of the room was covered with floor-to-ceiling book cases. The shelves were covered in not only books in multiple languages and on many topics but also pictures frames of her family, shells, trinkets, and various gift that T'Challa and Shuri had made her as children. The queen also had a large desk to work at, and several comfortable chairs and one couch were scattered across the room. On the walls were several paintings depicting beautiful landscapes from across Wakanda.

Ramonda was seated at her desk, as we entered, and Shuri was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a Kimoyo screen open in front of her, and was doing … something … very diligently. I was smart and skilled in many things, but Wakandan technology—even the things Shuri was involved with at her young age—went straight over my head.

Shuri bounded to her feet with a cry of delight when she caught sight of us in the doorway, and Ramonda—who had become as dear to me, the mother I hadn't had in decades—rose more sedately. T'Challa set me down gently on the couch with my back against the arm of the couch. He gently adjusted my shawl and then withdrew after saying, "I am going to go find Baba."

My umama drew up a chair beside the couch, while Shuri hovered impatiently behind her. "How are you feeling, my child?"

"Better. Stronger, though not right by any means."

"Good. Will you be able to stay longer this trip?" Umama asked. My last trip home had lasted a mere week. It was difficult for me to stay in Wakanda for long, since there was no good, safe explanation for my handlers. For now, I was mainly restricted to sneaking home on gaps between missions or on injury leave.

I shook my head, glad that I could do so without the action making me dizzy. "Once my friend and I are well enough to travel, we'll head to Cairo. SHIELD will pick us up there."

"Why can't you stay?" Shuri interjected, "If you stayed home, you wouldn't keep getting hurt so much."

"I would rather stay, usisi," I replied, "but it isn't safe."

Shuri opened her mouth to retort with some comment about Wakandan tech compared to the tech of the rest of the world. If Okoye had been here, I'm sure she would have had something tart to say as well. I continued before Shuri could speak, "My brother and I trust our handler but not most of the SHIELD hierarchy due to the treatment of our kind in the US during the early 2000s. SHIELD tries to keep an eye on where even its off-duty agents are, ostensibly to facilitate quick recall when necessary, but for years, since before I met T'Challa, my brother and I would stonewall about where we would disappear to when not at the School. I can get away with disappearing for short trips, but if I stay away too long, they will get more suspicious than they already are, especially when Tasha is with me. Until I retire from SHIELD, I can only stay for short periods."

"Then why don't you retire?" Shuri asked in a tone that indicated that the answer to all my problems was right in front of my nose if I was just smart enough to see it.

_Why don't I retire_? I had been asking myself that same question for years, especially since my brother's death. "It's complicated" was the only honest answer I could give.

My spitfire sister would have retorted to this as well—sometimes it was hard to believe she was only 11—but Ramonda cut her off with a sharp, "Not now, Shuri. Why don't you show her the work you having been doing with the Kimoyo Beads?"

Getting Shuri to talk about her tech was the easiest way to change the subject, and today was no exception. She enthusiastically launched into her subject. I was lost within a few minutes, but I relaxed back into the couch and let the flow of her words drift over me soothingly. It was good to be home.


End file.
